


Jumpsuit

by Awriterwrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dressing Room Shenanigans, Late Late Show, M/M, Smut, What happened after Kiwi, the pinstriped jumpsuit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites
Summary: Harry crosses one leg over the other and puts his long, slender fingers on his cocked hip.  He arches his neck just so...and Louis forgets to breathe.  He’s doing that.  His baby is doing that. It makes Louis flush with pride and something else, something like arousal.  Because.  Harry’s legs.It’s just a lot.***My interpretation of what happened after the Kiwi performance on LLS.





	Jumpsuit

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @silentlarryshipper for the quick beta work.
> 
> Thank you to you for reading!

Louis bites his lip as he watches Harry on the monitor backstage. Objectively he knows his boyfriend’s legs are long.  How could he not?  They've been wrapped around his hips, his neck...tangled with his own under worn sheets in their bed for almost 7 years now.  But seeing them in that jade green pinstriped jumpsuit?  It's like a  _ revelation  _ or something.  Discovering a brand new planet — an entire  _ universe _ , for god's sake.  They are perfect.  They are swoon worthy.  They are everything.  And  _ fuck _ .  They are all Louis'.  To do what he wants to.  To kiss and run his tongue all over and bite and just... _ ravage _ .   
  
And he intends on doing exactly that.

_ It’s New York baby always jacked up. _

Harry crosses one leg over the other and puts his long, slender fingers on his cocked hip.  He arches his neck just so...and Louis forgets to breathe.  He’s doing  _ that _ .  His baby is doing  _ that _ . It makes Louis flush with pride and something else, something like arousal.  Because.   _ Harry’s legs. _

It’s just a lot.  

The flashes of light do nothing to quell the frantic fury building in Louis’ bloodstream as he watches, his lip getting more and more tender, trapped between his teeth, arms crossed over his chest as Harry starts really working his way into the song.  He’s jumping around with those fucking endless legs of his, swaying his lithe hips and screaming  _ having your baby. _  And Louis  _ hears _ it.  He hears the frustration and the anger and all of the pent up vitriol from the past two years, the past three, the past seven...all of it is there, in the song.  In the album.  

Louis’ heart could break with it.

Hand on his hip again like he’s bartering with his mother for one more chocolate chip cookie before dinner Harry bellows, “ _ now she’s all over me like I paid for it _ ” and Louis sees the shadow of dimple as the verse builds and he hears the inhalations and he sees the intention in Harry’s eyes and my  _ god _ , he’s just on fire with it.  He’s like a man possessed and Louis has never seen anything more divine in his life. Harry is flowering right there in front of his eyes, in front of the  _ world’s eyes _ , blooming in bright pinks and golds, straining for the light of the sun — and it is the most incredible thing to witness.

It’s a shame it comes from such struggle and strife but  _ fucking hell _ , Harry was  _ born _ for this.  To perform.  To entertain.  It used to make Louis crazy with how easy it seemed to come to him but after watching him carefully, all these years, and knowing the other man inside and out — he knows Harry works for it.  He works for every scream, every smile, every drop of sweat that rolls down the line of his lean back.  He works so hard.  Louis is prouder in this moment than he’s ever been.

Harry drops to his knees, arches his back and grits his teeth, completely consumed with the song and the frenetic energy of the crowd.  Louis’ heart stutters in his chest and he thinks Harry has never been more beautiful, more alive.  The pyrotechnics behind him light up his face in silver-white, making him look like he's lit from within and Louis is already half hard in his jeans.  

Louis shifts from foot to foot and adjusts himself inside his pants as he watches James hug Harry in front of the screaming audience.  Louis can see the set of Harry’s shoulders and he  _ knows _ , while Harry is relieved that it’s been a good week, he is still tense — still on edge.  Louis understands — he is too. Everything has been happening so fast, despite all their planning, all the months and months of talking and mapping and getting it just right.

But still.  It’s a lot.

A few moments later when Harry strides into his dressing room, a damp flush spread across his face, hair standing on edge from his anxious hands, Louis feels it — the tie that binds them, the invisible thread that stretches so wide sometimes he thinks it might snap, but it never does, instead it always draws them closer.  Closer than before, invariably with deeper scars and a weariness in their bones that feels heavier than the time before, but they are always united — sure of their purpose, certain of their love.  

Harry leans his back against the smooth lacquered door and he looks like he’s just run a marathon.  

Louis hears the click of the lock.

Good.

“Lou — “ Harry’s eyes seek out his and for a moment it’s like it always is.  

_ Brittle _ .  Fused with a kind of energy that has no name, has no place between bodies in small rooms like this.  It’s a livewire and it  _ burns _ .  It makes Louis’ hands itch — his body throb.  To just reach out and  _ take _ .  To get as close to the other man as he possibly can, to feel their skin sear at first touch — to make contact. To make the other feel what  _ they  _ can never take away from them. The desperate emotion of it clogs Louis’ throat and makes him want to turn himself inside out so Harry can just  _ see  _ it.

“I know,” he says, instead, hoping it says enough; hoping it says it all. 

Harry is on him in a second, tongues meeting, bodies colliding, hands furious as they rip at each other’s clothing and tear at each other’s hair.   _ Fuck _ .  Mouths move together in a practiced dance of desire and need and  _ heat _ .  Louis wants him so much.  Needs him in every way.  Can’t get enough of him. Never can.

It’s like being inside the eye of a storm, still and full of a clarity that makes Louis’ heart stall while all around the world rages.  

Harry throws his head back and moans, making Louis shudder at the clear, plaintive way Harry is just  _ asking  _ for it.  He runs his tongue up the side of Harry’s neck, tasting the salt on his skin and the hazy aftermath of adrenalin.  Harry smells like home and he tastes like divinity — heavy and sweet on Louis’ tongue, slipping down his throat like a morphine drip, making him delirious with the overwhelm of it all.

Always like this.  

“ _ Fuck _ .  How do you —” Louis pulls at the double breasted collar of the jumpsuit while Harry is trying to kick off his boots. The question  _ how do you _ could mean anything.  How do you do what you do?  How do you exist in this world with me, for me, inside of me?  How do you get this fucking jumpsuit off?

Louis is so flustered and hot and it's suddenly oh so much. They struggle to stay upright as they work on opposite ends of Harry’s long, lean frame — trying to get him naked in the most efficient and ruthless way.  “How do you get out of this fucking —” Louis is pulling at the smooth expensive fabric (Harry-the-Lamb — the other Harry — will never forgive him if he rips this damn thing).

“Let me, let me,” Harry breathes out, capturing Louis’ face between his big, hot hands and kissing him again.  This time the kiss is a fraction less desperate, maybe just a little more tame.  For them.  Harry’s tongue is insistent and it is telling Louis everything he needs to hear.   _ Take me.  I’m yours.  We’ve got forever.  It’s okay. _

One of Harry’s hands is tangled in his hair and Louis grabs at Harry’s arse with greedy hands.  He’s impatient.  Needy.  There are too many articles of clothing between them, too much distance and it makes Louis’ blood boil with anticipation and a need to claim everything he wants, everything that’s his.  

“Off Harry.   _ Off _ .”

Harry pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.  His eyes are glazed over and glowing in the low light — the green from the jumpsuit reflecting in his sparkling irises.  Moonlit jade. A forest of arousal, thick and dense and so, so private.

_ Beautiful _ .

Louis is transfixed as Harry’s long fingers work the buttons just below his clavicle.  Slowly, way too fucking slowly, he undoes each button, staring deep into Louis’ eyes.  Louis couldn’t look away if he wanted to. He’s trapped, pinned down from what he sees there.  Every touch, every embrace, every single hurt feeling, word they never meant.  Every apology, every single declaration of love — every promise of forever.

No, he can’t look away.  He watches Harry  _ always _ .  While he’s sleeping, watches him when he writes in his journal — watches him when he fucking enters a room and captures everyone’s attention by simply  _ existing _ .  So of course he watches him now.  Watches while he pulls the jumpsuit open, pushing it off each shoulder with steady, purposeful hands.  Watches as the arms slip down his over his biceps, down his forearms and off his arms altogether.  He watches as Harry’s torso is left bare and glowing in the dressing room, with god knows what going on outside of these doors.

He watches as his boyfriend licks his lips and says, slow and deep, “How did I do?”

“Oh  _ baby _ ,” Louis’ voice cracks and he steps forward and runs his hands down Harry’s chest, fingers dragging over his ever-erect nipples, earning him a shiver and gasp.  “You did…” he struggles to find the words because how do you tell someone that they are amazing in every way, so much more than anyone deserves, so much more than anyone could ever imagine, fantasize, dream about?

He pushes Harry back against the locked door, the sound of clicking heels on tile and rushed voices the only thing keeping them here, on this plane, in this realm — the threat of losing themselves always present, always surrounding them.  “You did so well.” It’s simple, but Louis says with such devotion, such adoration that Harry’s entire face crumples and he falls forward so that Louis can hold him, cherish him, kiss him again and again until they are breathless from it.

“So good.”  Louis pushes a thigh between Harry’s legs, feeling the other man’s arousal against him.  “So, so good, baby…”

Harry whines and bumps his head against the door.  Eyes closed shut tight, he fumbles with Louis’ t-shirt.  Louis pulls it over his head so that they can press together skin to skin, heart to heart.  Louis bends down and takes one of his boyfriend’s nipples in his mouth, eager to bring Harry to the point of no return.  He wants to show him — to make him  _ feel _ — how moved he is over the performance, the fact that Harry is his and he is Harry’s, even after all this time.   _ All this time. _

Harry makes the most beautiful, anguished sounds and Louis knows that he’s letting it go.  He’s letting all of it go with every bated breath, with every single exhale and kiss.  It’s dissolving in the close air around them as Harry surrenders — gives himself to Louis.  Time and time again, they take this path.  And every time it leaves Louis breathless in wonder, completely in awe of what they have, what they share.

“T — touch me,” Harry whispers, voice broken and raw.

Louis pulls off of the other nipple that he’s been working over with his mouth, fingertips rolling the other side, playing Harry like his favorite instrument, delighting in the music he draws from deep inside of him.  Harry’s eyes are wild, but there is a calm certainty to his voice that lets Louis know he’s feeling it too — the fragility of the moment, the need to do this,  _ right now, _ so that they can assure themselves, each other, that this is right, this is good.  This is where they are supposed to be.

Louis watches Harry’s face, eyes dropping to red, slick lips and back up to his hazy eyes.  He licks his palm, coating it in saliva and he hears Harry suck in a sharp breath.  Sliding his hand inside the jumpsuit, thankful for the loose structure of the pants, he takes Harry in hand.  

Hot.

Heavy.

Wet.

“Yes…” Harry’s eyes roll back in his head and Louis can’t stop looking at him.  He’s gorgeous in every way, skin glistening with sweat, hair falling over his face like silk.  “Please.” Desperate.  Voice deep and husky, bordering on begging.

“Sssh.” Louis presses his lips to the side of Harry’s neck, biting against tendon, muscle and skin and vein and blood pulsing against his teeth.  He drags his wet hand up and down Harry’s shaft and feels Harry wobble against him.  He drags his thumb over the head, pausing at the wet slit so he can make Harry moan in pleasure, so he can drag him closer to the edge.  He sucks at Harry’s collarbone and starts to move quicker, more purposefully.

He loves the feeling of control that comes with this.  Loves that he can make Harry feel like this.  Loves that he’s the only one that gets to do this to Harry.  

“ _ Louis _ ! God.   _ Please _ .” Harry is shaking and bucking into Louis’ fist, the expensive fabric of the jumpsuit rumpling between them.

Louis’ hand tightens reflexively and he pulls Harry off fast and hard. He whispers into Harry’s ear, “You were so good, baby.  So, so good.”

Harry comes.  He shouts out and it sounds like relief and ecstasy and joy and agony and something so completely  _ Harry _ that Louis feels dizzy with it. He shoves his hand down his own pants, writhing against Harry now, desperate to get off.

He’s so hard it’s painful and he knows that most of it is just in his head.  He’s so fucking over the moon that Harry is his and Harry is doing this and Harry is just so fucking  _ good _ ...he can’t contain it anymore.

Harry is still panting and holding himself up against the door, one arm slung over Louis’ neck but he has the wherewithal to pull Louis’ hand out of his tight jeans and growl, “No.”

Louis is shocked but he lets Harry turn him and push him to the door.  He lets Harry pull his jeans down to his ankles and he watches Harry drop to his knees with a grunt. His hands fly to the crown of Harry’s head, resting there and feeling the damp sweat under the curls.  He lets Harry pull his cock out of his pants and he lets him lick right up the underside.  His eyes fill with tears at the sight of Harry before him.   _ His _ .  Harry is his.

Harry’s mouth engulfs him with the heat of a thousand suns and it feels so good — he can’t even breath, can’t see straight, can’t say a word.  He just...feels.

“Baby.”

Harry takes him down, all the way down and Louis almost collapses.  Harry’s bare down to his waist, pinstriped jumpsuit pooling around his middle, wet spot prominent at the crotch.  His tongue is rolling all over Louis’ length and its wet and messy and absolutely perfect.

He feels the spiralling release unfurling deep in his gut and his spine lights up, sparking with the inevitable.  He holds on to Harry’s head, more for balance than anything else, but when Harry nods his head and stills, Louis’ heart floods with an intensity of emotion he barely registers — because Harry is telling him something, telling him to use him, to get off by fucking his mouth and it’s...it’s a lot.

It’s always a lot with Harry. Because theirs is a love that has withstood everything and it’s still like this. Still hot, still this fiery combination of desire and wanting to give the other everything. To give it all and take it all in return.  It’s like nothing Louis has ever known and he prays fervently they will always have this.

He fucks hard and fast into Harry’s mouth, Harry staring up at him with watery, intense eyes, swimming in his own lust.  He fucks into Harry’s mouth, tears streaming down his own face because he loves his boy so, so much.  He feels everything surging forward, unstoppable now and it feels so, so good.  Like flying.  Like nothing holding him back, nothing but Harry and his mouth and the fucking green jumpsuit and complete surrender.  

He fucks until he’s coming with shaking legs and his arse flexed and his hands tangled, pulling at Harry’s hair.  He comes down Harry’s throat and Harry swallows what he can, the rest running down his chin with the spit and the tears and the sweat and it’s so fucking perfect, Louis feels himself melting, melting, melting.  He’s dissolving into the emotion now, everything catching up to him.  The long days and nights apart, the feeling of never ever being able to be  _ normal _ .  Never having everything they want — but knowing it doesn’t matter because when they are together in moments like this it just erases everything.  Makes it all distant memory, insulating them — keeping them safe, secure in knowing that at the end of it all it’s just the two of them.  The same love they had at 16 and 18.

Louis slides down to the floor, Harry sitting back on his feet, breathless and completely wrecked.  Harry pulls him closer and they hold each other.  They don’t speak.  They don’t need to.  It’s all there.  On the floor, between them. And tonight, while Harry sang his heart out and Louis watched him and knew,  _ knows _ , that it’s okay.  It's just fine.

Louis kisses Harry then, soft lips pressed together, breathing in the scent of sex and tireless devotion.  Harry sighs into his mouth and Louis feels his eyelashes sweep over his cheeks.  Butterflies, fluttering against the summer sky. Blues and greens and every shade in between.  

Harry winces and looks down at himself.  Louis smirks. 

“Lamb’s gonna kill you.” Harry’s voice is hoarse, but happy, relaxed.  

Louis presses a kiss against Harry’s cheek, right where the indent of his dimple is.  “Don’t care.”

Later, they gather themselves up and redress — Harry putting the jumpsuit into a garment bag with an apology note — and they get ushered out the back entrance into the waiting car, Louis whispers into Harry’s ear, “Was worth it.”

Harry smiles into his mouth and they giggle like school children.  Because it  _ was _ worth it.  Always is.  Always will be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! xxoo
> 
> Here is the rebloggable post on tumblr if you want to share :) 
> 
> [jumpsuit](http://a-writerwrites.tumblr.com/post/160878481770/jumpsuit-by-awriterwrites-words-3k-rating)


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